Written about four years ago.
Springtime
Within my great, hollow chest,
My heart beats,
Like a muffled clapper,
In a rusty iron bell,
Playing its part,
In the symphony of green around me.
It felt good to unload in my first post. I came here because I need a place to talk about these things where no one knows me, where no one can judge, or be horrified, or worst of all, try to intervene. I’ve been dealing with suicide for a very long time — at least thirty years. That’s a big part of why I’m so tired. I wonder how long I’m supposed to keep going like this, and I really want to keep my options open.
I notice that poetry is welcome here, so by way of introduction, I thought I’d share some poems I wrote […]
I have nothing left, and I’m too damned old to start over. Getting to this point was painful enough, and I’m not going to put myself through it again. My username says it all. Continuing is exhausting and often painful, and I just don’t have the strength any more. I’ve lost all credibility at work, and with some reason. My skills have deteriorated and my memory is so bad that my knowledge is usually inaccessible. At home my wife has stopped all sexual activity, disapproves of nearly everything I do, and it certainly seems to me that I am only an income and an unreliable […]